THE BLOOMING ROSES.
Within the forest stood a little chapel, in which was a statue of the Virgin. Hither came a young girl, and day by day adorned it with fresh flowers. From the Madonna’s arms the infant Jesus smiled upon the child. Thus passed the spring and summer. The girl, devoted to her occupation, and her heart filled with love for Jesus, thought less and less upon the things of this world. One thought alone troubled her as the autumn advanced; this was, that in winter she would not be able to find flowers to adorn the chapel.
This sad thought weighed heavily on her till one day, when sitting weaving a rose-wreath for the child Jesus, a voice said in her ear, “Be not faint-hearted: are not the summer’s blessings still present with thee? let the present be sufficient for thee:” and so the girl wove on with lightened heart.
When winter came and the roses faded, the young girl was lying on her death-bed; her only sorrow was leaving the Virgin and child Jesus so lonely in the forest.
Lo! at her death the hedges once more bloomed; and, in spite of snow and frost, fresh roses blossomed in the forest. With these was the pall decked, and on the gentle wings of their fragrance the spirit of the young girl was wafted to the sky.
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A funny story is told of an old lady at Winterich (which we are now passing). The old lady had been the superior of a convent which was suppressed by the French. Much grieved at this, the old lady was seized with fits of melancholy, and when in these fits was in the habit of knocking her head against the table. These knocks being often repeated, and with considerable force, the part thus ill used became hard and horny, until at length a regular ram’s horn, with three branches, protruded from the much-knocked head. The old lady cut them down; but they only grew larger and harder, entirely covering one of her eyes. A surgeon being called in, operated on the old dame, who, although now eighty-eight years old, got well through the operation, and lived for two years after, dying in 1836.
The hill called Brauneberg is now passed; the vineyards on it produce a fine wine, called by its name.
At Muhlheim we must leave our river for a time, and explore the charming valley of Veldenz, with its ruined castle placed on the summit of a richly-wooded hill. The walk there is through miles of vineyards edged with fruit-trees, and the valley below the castle is emerald with well-watered grass.
The hills are a mass of forest, and the variously-shaped houses, which are dropped at uncertain intervals along the bubbling stream, form a pleasant picture of rural beauty.
Veldenz was a little principality in itself; formerly it was governed by the Counts of the same name, but afterwards it was given to the church of Verdun, and was then governed by fourteen magistrates, elected by the different villages, and presided over by a prévôt, probably appointed by the Bishop of Verdun.